Impenetrable mysteries of the Gyllenverse, part III

We're all thinking it: how many pairs of sneakers does Jake have, and just what does he do with them all?

I have a theory about this one, but it has absolutely no basis in reality whatsoever. Just something that sounds good to me, so I'm sticking with it until he makes a statement disproving it. My theory later. First, let's talk about...

Jake Gyllenhaal's Nike Sneaker Addiction
According to this completely unscientific survey from Mister Poll, the average consumer's sneakers last between six months and two years before they need replacement. Sure, there are those who like to have a few different pairs around for different activities, I suppose. Maybe three, tops.

In my investigation, I went back to the beginning of September this year to learn just how many different Nike sneakers Jake has been seen in.

• September 4: Having started the day wearing what look to my amateur eyes to be a pair of Adidas, one of his rare departures from the Nike swoosh, Jake shows off these Nikes while out to dinner in Los Angeles.



• September 9: In New York for the start of the Rendition press tour, Jake takes in some U.S. Open tennis with his friend, wearing this pair. Wave to the scumbag pap, Jake!



• September 15: RE-TREAD--Jake takes a stroll in SoHo with director Noah Baumbach. Apparently, he has brought a single pair of Nikes to NY, and has not had the chance to shop for more.



• September 25: Back home in Los Angeles, Jake valet parks for coffee in a new pair of swooshes. He'll later be photographed in the bizarre big-necked blue sweatshirt two three five days in a row, but this particular pair of Nikes is never seen again.



• October 10: Once more leaving Joan's on Third in L.A., with one of the assorted lucky assistant types that alternate in his service, Jake wears what honestly could be something other than Nikes, but let's count them anyway since they don't have the obvious appearance of another brand. And they're different from the last pair.



• October 23: Still wearing his then-favorite tan t-shirt, Jake takes a walk in L.A. with Brothers director Jim Sheridan, introducing us to the longest-running pair of Nikes so far in the study.



• October 28: RE-TREAD #1--Jake wears them again when he attends a concert in the company of Robert Downey, Jr. at a club in West Hollywood. He has, however, switched off to the gray t-shirt.



• October 31: RE-TREAD #2--For an unprecedented third time, we see Jake wearing the pale Nikes with the red-outlined swoosh and the yellow heel insert in the sole as he approaches his ride in Beverly Hills. This was the day of the infamous "pap-slap," possibly inspired by sneaker ennui. (Later that night, Jake was photographed wearing these completely unidentifiable [by me] reflective sneakers, in addition to a gorilla suit).



• November 2: RE-TREAD #3 (!!)--Nevertheless, when Jake gets papped arriving at a basketball game at L.A.'s Staples Center, the gray-yellow-red Nikes are back for one last hurrah.



• November 6: I've never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life. Ahem! Sorry, on with it. Walking with Reese in an L.A. parking lot, Jake coordinates a new pair of Nikes with his oddly sexy sweat shorts. The orange shirt is...less sexy, but on Jake, does it really matter?



• November 9: Somewhere in a garage in Los Angeles, Jake Gyllenhaal debuts his SEVENTH pair of Nike sneakers in two months. He also dons the same layered shirts that I admired so from the Clippers game. Thanks, baby!

There you have it. Seven distinct pairs of Nike sneakers over the span of sixty-six days. And those are just the ones captured in photographs. Who knows how many different Nikes he wore on the days in between?

My theory is sort of developed around the observation that Jake has been known to re-wear several sets of non-sneaker foot attire (the battered black boots and the thong-sandals come to mind), but once we see him in a different pair of Nikes, the previous pairs never appear again. This new-sneaker addiction, an observable quirk, is all the more prominent because of Jake's well-documented penchant for wearing the same clothes over a span of a year or more. Also, every pair of sneakers we see him in looks brand new. He never seems to wear them out. Does Jake test shoes for Nike? One might reasonably make such a guess. I think, however, that Jake loves to buy new sneakers, loves to coordinate them with his clothes when possible, but then almost immediately sees something new that he wants.

Therefore, my official Jake Gyllenhaal Nike Sneaker Disposition Theory is that Jake wears the sneakers once or twice and then donates them somewhere. I know, it's a stretch, but it certainly fits the evidence. It's nicer to believe this than imagine a room in his house dedicated to forgotten Nikes, piled knee-deep, the door kept locked except when he comes home to discard the latest castoffs as he prepares to break in yet another new pair.

All photos: IHJ.

Somewhere in an alternate Gyllenverse, part II

[SCENE: A car's interior, nighttime. It's a modest-looking vehicle which may or may not be a hybrid. The interior is a medium gray, upholstered in leather. Stretched haphazardly across the back seat is a dark gray fleece blanket. Our impossibly gorgeous young actor is behind the wheel, looking a bit frazzled but still beautiful in a cheap lightweight black jacket, tan t-shirt, a brushed-fleece scarf that almost matches the backseat blanket, and jeans. His cell phone, tossed into the passenger seat among other debris, begins to buzz its way across the seat as it vibrates with a call.]

J: Shit. [glancing over, grabs phone, answers] Yeah?

Anonymous Party Host: [on other end of phone line] Hey, that was intense. Are you okay?

J: [sighs] Yeah, I'm fine.

APH: We saw it from the window. I had to stop Bob from running to your rescue. You sure you're okay? They were right on top of you.

J: I'm fine, really. A little flash-blind, but that's fading.

APH: I'm sorry. You should have let us use the hose.

J: As satisfying as that might have been, it wouldn't have stopped them. [stops at a traffic light, looks around] I told you I was followed. You thought I was being paranoid.

APH: [irritably] I did not say 'paranoid.'

J: Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not paranoid, I'm 'nuts.' [light changes, drives on] That one guy almost lost a foot, I swear.

APH: I thought going out the back door would work. You really, really should have let us run them off first. Seriously.

J: I'm a big boy, I can handle a few photographers. But I told you they were there.

APH: [apologetically] I know. I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone knew you were coming.

J: [signaling and then turning] They didn't. They were outside my house. They're always outside my house. They followed me. I told you, I was followed.

APH: Okay, okay. And you were right. [playfully, after a beat] So I guess this means you won't be coming to my next party?

J: [laughing] No, I'm never coming to your house again. Your parties suck, I had no fun, I left alone. In fact, delete my number from your phone.

APH: Hey, it's not my fault you left alone. That was your move, bud.

J: Yeah, well, with those guys staked out in your bushes, she'd have been instantly famous.

APH: Oh, come on. You can't claim that excuse. [teasing] You're just picky.

J: That's me, mister discriminating.

APH: Who are you supposed to be fucking these days, anyway? I've lost track.

J: So have I. Last I heard, I was seriously overrated, though. [giggling]

APH: [laughing] Someone should tell that to the guys who were in my bushes.

J: [laughing] I did. They wouldn't listen.

APH: [laughing]

J: [stopping at another light] You know, I should find out who I'm dating. I could really go for some sex right now.

APH: [laughs] You're terrible.

J: What's terrible is that my tabloid self is fucking an assortment of attractive people of either gender, and I haven't had sex in two years. [in mock despair] I'm lonely!

APH: You're so full of shit.

J: I'm full of ...something. [starts driving again]

APH: I'm hanging up now.

J: [melodramatic] But I'm so lonely!

APH: [laughing] Goodnight, Jake.

J: 'Night.

[J hangs up call, tosses phone back on seat, and drives on, smiling]

Inspiration here.

Somewhere in an alternate Gyllenverse, part I

(previously posted to the JW forums, 4/5/07)

Disclaimer: I am not a screenwriter, so please cut me an appropriate length of slack.

[SCENE: Night, interior. A hotel room, clean, but not too ostentatious. Our protagonist, an impossibly gorgeous young actor, is on his cell phone.]

J: So what did they say?

Anonymous fictitious agent (hereafter "AFA"): [on other end of phone line] Promise me you won't freak out.

J: [beat] Fuck. So that's it? Tell me what they said. [begins pacing]

AFA: I'll tell you if you promise you'll stay calm. Sit down.

J: [sighs exhasperatedly] Okay, whatever. [still pacing around room] I'm sitting.

AFA: Well...[hesitantly] They loved your reading...

J: ...But?

AFA: But...you've gotta understand, Jake, this character is a really sensitive issue...for the studio as well as the director...

J: [growing more agitated] If you don't spit it out, I'm going to start breaking shit...

AFA: [hurriedly] Okay, okay, calm down. Uh, listen... [laughs insincerely] They said you're just too good looking for the part.

J: [stops pacing, stunned to silence]

AFA: Jake? Did I lose you?

J: [sits on bed, defeatedly putting head in free hand]

AFA: Jake?? [to self] ...fucking cell phones...

J: I'm here. Are you kidding me? That's why I'm out?

AFA: I'm sorry, Jake. Fiedler said no one wants to do a movie about a mentally challenged serial rapist with a lead who makes the audience wet.

J: [shaking his head] Can't he give audiences more credit than that? That's fucking ridiculous! No one's going to be attracted to this guy!

AFA: No, his problem is that they're going to be attracted to you. Thinks the ones who don't go home feeling ashamed of themselves will be writing letters and calling because someone made a movie about a sick rapist and depicted him as "lovable" and "desirable," or something like that. You know, the same old bullshit.

J: I can't believe this is happening again.

AFA: [beat] Hey, I know you really wanted to do this--

J: [interrupting] What about makeup? [gets up, wanders over to mirror, begins making faces] Prosthetics? They could give me a harelip or something.

AFA: Not good enough. Besides, if they wanted you with a harelip, they'd get Joaquin Phoenix. He's cheaper than you.

[J pulls phone away from ear and looks at it in disbelief]

J: [back to phone] Are you serious? Doesn't anyone care about the acting?

AFA: [sighs] I'm sorry.

J: [drops back on bed, begins chewing thumb] Okay, well...Thanks, man.

[J ends the call, flops backward onto bed for a second, then gets up again, goes back to mirror]

J: [looking incredulously at his reflection] Joaquin Phoenix??

This is a little piece of satire that's been floating about in my head for a while. It occurred to me one day that Jake's appearance might be a problem in some cases. Like Chloë Sevigny said, film makers might think they have to do something to suggest he's more average looking just to make him believable as certain characters. Now, of course, we don't feel that way, because he's so good at becoming the character that we forget we're watching Jake. But what if some dumbass Hollywood suit didn't get that? This scene is what might happen.

Impenetrable mysteries of the Gyllenverse, part II

This past weekend, my dear mother and her sewing machine rescued me from an ongoing nightmare that, while trivial, drove me to the edge of sanity. As in most cases when I'm riled about something, I wrote about it. Observe:

(6/20/07)

How do you do it?

I speak not of your universally acknowledged acting talent, nor your apparently limitless athletic prowess, nor even your well-documented yet mysterious culinary achievements.

I'm talking about your pants.

You know, the article of clothing that most men wear on their hips, just below the waist? Not you. Yours are somewhere between just off the hip and hanging on to ass for dear life. How can you stand it?

I ask this because for the past few weeks, I've been experiencing this unorthodox manner of attire against my will.

This was not an attempt to live as you do and somehow gain a deeper understanding of your motives and passions. I just can't afford to buy new clothes, and my pants are all getting rather large for me. Yesterday, though--that was the worst. Every time I stood up, my crotch was halfway to my knees.

What? You didn't realize this was about Jake? You'll soon learn: everything with me is eventually about Jake. I prefer it that way.

Anyway, the proximity of Jake's waistband to his hips is a favorite subject of mine. He's been showing us his boxers and briefs for years, in photo shoots and on the street. On any other man, I would find this irritating, but on Jake, it's somehow oddly charming. Of course I have developed my own theories about it. I don't believe it's a fashion thing. These pants are not low enough to qualify for hip-hop hideous. Well, except maybe here. Besides, hasn't that lunacy more or less run its course?

My suspicion, based on personal experience, is that there's a design/fit issue involved. In my case, it's the fact that clothing manufacturers appear to be unaware that some women have an ass as well as a waist. Every pair of pants I try on that fits my hips and thighs invariably bags away from my waist by at least 3 inches, sometimes much more. Yes, I know my ass is huge. But why must that also mean that I have no waist? Idiots.

So, if women's pants can be so drastically out of sync with common female proportions, what's to say men don't suffer the same fate? Look, if you will (such a chore!), at Jake's thighs.

These are not skinny, spindly stick-legs. They're not even average, not-too-thin-but-hardly-big thighs. These are impressive, well-muscled powerhouses, built and maintained by constant athleticism. Not body-builder huge, but big. Now, look at his hips and ass. Go on, it's okay, I'll wait.

Slim hips. Don't make me describe the rest or I'll completely lose my focus; let's just say it's about as close to perfect as any ever was.

Tell me, men--do you find that the thighs of most jeans and slacks are narrowly cut? Because if that's the case, what's a man like Jake to do? Buy bigger pants, of course. Especially if he wants a bit of, well, dangle room.

All photos: IHJ.

Impenetrable mysteries of the Gyllenverse, part I

A few days ago, some new-but-old photos of Jake out biking were posted by the diligent and invaluable Stephanie at IHJ. As usual, the man looks outrageously attractive while exercising. There should be a law against this. Where's the sweat, Gyllenhaal? Anyway, these pics reminded me of something I've noticed before.

We all saw Jake's naked head in Jarhead. His skull is perfectly shaped, if somewhat large. Why is it, then, that every time we see him in a bike helmet, the thing is tilted ever so slightly to his right (our left)?







It's not so much the fact that it's not straight that niggles at me; that seems reasonable enough. But it's always to his right side. Think I'm exaggerating? Take a look at some evidence. I am so not kidding here. Since I have nothing better to do, I've developed a few theories to explain this consistency.

1. It's intentional. Jake likes to be a little goofy.
2. He put it on that way because he really can't tell where the top of his head is without looking in a mirror.
3. He makes a lot of steep right turns every time he rides, and centrifugal force pulls the helmet off-kilter.

I may never know the truth behind this phenomenon, but the important thing is that I recognize it exists and appreciate it as a part of the endless quirkiness that makes me a Gyllenhaalic. Jake: the man, the enigma, the goofball.

All photos: IHJ.